


wild horses run in me

by atlantisairlock



Series: Hello Operator, Please Give Me Number Nine Nine [7]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Trans, Character Study, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Team as Family, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:24:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: They've always done things differently here in the Nine-Nine.Or, what if everyone in the precinct was transgender?





	

**Author's Note:**

> how this idea came about: 11pm at night in bed thinking about the fics i've read featuring transgender rosa. shoutout to all the writers who've written great fic based on this premise! 
> 
> title from 'wild horses' by birdy.

It starts with Holt, mostly because he's born about twenty years before most of his squad. There isn't a lot of objective information regarding the construct of gender in his childhood, but he's smart and tenacious and probably knows the layout of the neighbourhood library better than the head librarian by the age of eight. He tries to ask the clerk, first - he smiles patronisingly down at him and says _that's a little advanced for a little girl like you, isn't it?_  then suggests the children's corner instead.

Holt frowns, turns on his heel, and proceeds to carefully construct a makeshift staircase out of a set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica so he can reach the dusty hardcover books on the very top of a shelf hidden in a shadowy corner. He finds a comfortable seat to page through the treasure troves of information in peace, then jots down some observations and conclusions in his trusty journal. Some of the arguments and facts in the books he finds do fly over his head, but the concept is simple enough to grasp. 

He organises his information into a binder complete with headings and appendices, then hands it over to his mother when he's ten. She puts on her reading glasses and reads it cover to cover. He waits patiently for her to finish, for her to return it to his desk drawer and sit him down at the dinner table. "Alexandra, that was a very enlightening read, but do you have something to tell me?"

Holt has never expected things to come easy. He is not here for things to be  _easy._ But all things considered, it goes over fairly well, and he finds that he's relieved. It's like he's been holding his breath, and finally he's able to exhale. It's a feeling he gets used to as the years go by.

His mother isn't able to alter his official documents, but she doesn't let that stop her. The next time he dawdles too long in his room at dinnertime, she's all matter-of-fact, yelling up the stairs. "Raymond! Get down here before your pasta goes cold or so help me, there'll be no ice cream for you tonight!" 

She does not correct the extended family members who slip up, time and again. Holt does it all on his own. She does, however, curtly ignore the relatives who turn their noses up in disgust and pull her aside to advise her to bring 'little Alexandra' to one of 'those' doctors. 

Holt's grandmother worries incessantly, especially after he comes out in his freshman year. "Being black in America, Douglas!" She frets to his father. "And being gay in America - not to mention being transgender in America - but being black  _and_ gay  _and_ transgender? In America, Douglas! In America! My grandson needs to wear a bulletproof vest to sleep!" 

Understandably, she faints when he tells her that he's applying to the police force. His parents revive her with smelling-salts and look at him sympathetically while she moans about the dangers. He hugs her tight and promises he'll take care of himself, but he doesn't change his mind. Because she's right - he's black  _and_ gay  _and_ transgender in America, and he knows firsthand how the country is broken, how it needs to be fixed. He wants to be a part of that. He  _will_ be a part of that change. For himself, and for everyone like him, so they don't need to struggle to the top shelf in the library and dust books off to know where they stand, to know that they belong.

 

 

Terry's parents aren't  _quite_ so understanding. There's a lot of denial on his mother's side, and shouting on his father's. He sticks it out until he's eighteen, then takes off to the East Coast to attend college at Syracuse. He arrives with three changes of clothes, the only shirts and jeans he's ever been allowed to buy and keep, and finds people who are willing to accept him for who he is, fellow college mates who are discovering themselves too. He stammers through his insecurity to his roommate Sylvia, who listens thoughtfully, and then returns to their room one evening to find an entire box of new clothes and binders on his bed - Sylvia denies any involvement for the rest of her life, but she's a terrible liar. Remy from one of his classes refers Terry to his mother, who's an experienced surgeon - she agrees to perform the SRS for a dramatically reduced price and refers him to colleagues who can help him through his transition. Xi Yan jeopardises his place on the football team to argue up a storm with management, who refuse to put Terry on the team even though he beats everyone out in the tryouts. He finds friends in New York, finds a home, realises he doesn't miss the West Coast at all. 

But having good people in his life doesn't change the fear and doubt that's been ingrained in him throughout his childhood by parents who refused to understand. Terry never stops sweating in his suits, even when he starts looking in the mirror and stops being able to see any trace of  _girl._ People look too long on the streets, and he sweats. People glance over his ID card, and he sweats. People stumble over his name, and he sweats. 

He goes to the gym, makes himself bulk up, because this world sees muscle and bulk and height and thinks  _male._ People treat him differently when they refer to him as  _he his him._ Terry realises he doesn't like it - no, hates the way people look at women and think  _inferior._ Someone at the gym nudges him when a young lady walks in with a determined look on her face, and laughs, expecting Terry to laugh with him. It's mocking, dehumanising, and he only just manages to stop himself landing a punch. Superiority is not found in arrogance, in privilege. Who does this man think he is? 

So he takes that on as his fight, too. He meets Sharon at a Planned Parenthood, where they're both escorting friends past the hordes of protestors spewing hate. One particularly vicious man lays a hand on Sharon's friend. She gets right up in his face, slams a fist into his nose, and Terry shuttles both frightened girls into safety before rushing to Sharon's side. He looms over the man, who shrinks back in sudden fear, and all but drags Sharon away from the protestors, helps her bandage her scratches and ice her black eye. He gets a bruise in the arm that day when she yells at him for taking her away before she could teach that 'vile excuse for a living organism' a lesson. It's not the fairytale beginning to falling in love that anyone would expect, but it works. 

They get married in a church far, far away from that Planned Parenthood, surrounded by people who love them. It's a beautiful day, and when Terry steps outside amidst cheers and hooting, he thinks he's ready for anything else that this life could throw at him. He has to be, in his line of work - rises up the ranks, becomes known as the Ebony Falcon. 

Nothing compares, though, to the day when Cagney and Lacey are born. Terry carries both of them in his arms, awed by how tiny and ethereal they are, and thinks that he can finally start leaving his parents behind and become one himself. A better parent than they ever were. He whispers promises in their ears, that he'll love them  _no matter what,_ and he means every single word. 

 

 

Nana promises Jake and Gina that she'll love them  _no matter what,_ too, which is why they're totally comfortable with coming out to her pretty early on. They figure it out together - it's easy, when they look at each other and see the representation of who they want to be. They share everything, especially clothes, and try on each other's names for size. Jake quite likes  _Reginald_  -it sounds classy and sufficiently intimidating. Gina flat-out refuses to settle for 'Janet', because  _really?_

Darlene loves and indulges her child, whether or not they're her son or daughter, but draws the line at changing Gina's name from a respectable Reginald to Your Highness Princess Linetti. Gina settles for clipping 'ld' off to get Regina. It still sounds fairly impressive and fitting of someone of her status. 

Jake, on the other hand, exasperates Nana to no end.

"How about Jonathan?" She asks, peering at a book of baby names with her glasses on. Jake grimaces. "Ew. How about McClane?"

Nana affixes him with a stare. "McClane Peralta?"

Jake sees no problem with this. Nana does. "Try again." 

He grins. "Denzel?"

Eventually he settles on the name _Jacob_. Nana still doesn't really like it, because  _supplanter_ doesn't really have a pleasant connotation, but she supposes _anything_ is a step up from Bruce Willis Peralta. Jake likes the way it slips off the tongue. And if Gina approves of it, how bad can it be, right? 

Kids give them shit in school, because that's how Brooklyn and New York and the world, maybe, works. But they have each other, so they manage. Even when it gets really bad - like the time Jake almost gets beaten up near the back gate of their middle school and Gina charges in like a raging bull and damn near kills his assailants - they have each other. 

They both develop their own defences. Gina puts up walls and keeps people away with her sharp tongue, and it's the rare few who can see past the lazy drawl who she latches on to, loyal for life. Jake looks at the world, though, and sees beauty, sees joy, sees that yeah, things get shitty sometimes, but... there are afternoons when they just sit on the couch and eat chips and watch TV and how bad can everything really be? So she's sour, he's sweet. 

It works. 

 

 

Rosa chooses to take a more Gina-esque approach where it comes to things. She's fiercely and steadfastly herself, even in her all-boys Catholic school, and her schoolmates accept her for who she is but the adults don't. After one too many priests tells her that the Devil is corrupting her and to find her way back to God's light, Rosa loses her patience. 

They pack her off to ballet academy, citing disciplinary issues and a tendency for violence. It isn't much better there, what with kids  _and_ adults being cruel, but ballet gives her strength, gives her discipline, offers her a space where she can simply  _be_ without worrying about anything else. When she performs, Rosa sometimes thinks she could do this for the rest of her life,  _but._

It's a pretty big _but_. Something in her craves more. Something in her thinks of all the taunts she's endured since the beginning and she still clenches her fists, still has to repress the urge to punch a wall. Didn't she deserve better than that? Didn't everyone and anyone who had to go through the same? 

She wants to protect people. She wants to give children something to look up to, hold on to. And maybe she can do that with  _Swan Lake,_ but maybe there's another way, too. 

Her instructors in the police academy use her deadname from the day she steps in to the day she graduates. Her coursemates use transphobic slurs around her, snicker and leave her out of communal lunches. Rosa looks at all of them, thinks that maybe if these are the people protecting civilians then that explains why it's such a fucking miserable city out there, wonders if she can do this on her own, make a difference alone. 

Then she meets Jake. Jake, who smiles and extends a hand when they first meet. "Hey! Rafael, right?"

And Rosa feels hot under the collar, snarls out her practiced response. "My name is  _Rosa."_

Here's where Jake breaks the pattern. Here's where Jake's eyes widen, like he's just struck gold. Here's where he grins and nods. "My name was Janet, a long time ago. But you can call me Jake." 

Don't get her wrong. It's still a miserable city. But here's the thing - 

she's not alone. 

 

 

For Amy, it's never been about being alone. With seven older brothers she would pay good money to  _be_ alone for once. They tussle with each other in the front yard, slide down the staircase banisters, scream at the top of their lungs in the attic, and all in all convince Amy that she  _is not a boy_ before she leaves elementary school. Being Amy, she does copious research in the library. Her teachers are helpful, encouraging her interest in topics beyond the scope of the classroom, and she spends hours on the computer searching for academic papers and scientific studies. 

She talks her parents through the idea of gender identity, America's history with transgender, non-binary and genderqueer people, laws and rights and policies. By the end of her hour-long lecture, her mother looks fairly befuddled, but her father just chuckles. Amy's vaguely hurt, until he pats her on the shoulder. "I wasn't laughing at you, kiddo. In fact, I think this was a very admirable effort, and I learned a lot. It's just that..." He exchanges a glance with his wife. "I was just remembering, you know, what your grandmother said?"

Understanding dawns in her eyes, and she turns to look at Amy, a smile creeping up onto her face. "I see."

Amy squints. She feels like a big secret is being kept from her, and she doesn't like it. "What are you two talking about?" 

Her mother breaks out the photo albums. They sit on the porch, Amy's two eldest brothers flanking her while they all peer over the photographs. Her father points to one of her mother, her arms slung around a wizened old woman sitting in an armchair. "That's your great-grandmother - your mother's grandmother. She died very soon after you were born."

Amy's mother nods. "She was in hospital when I was pregnant with you, darling. We visited her during the first trimester, and she told us she was happy that after seven great-grandsons, she would finally have a great-granddaughter. She was always making predictions like that - she would say it was going to rain in an hour or that the milk would spill at breakfast and things like that - and she was usually right, so of course your father and I were thrilled to hear it - raising seven boys was exhausting work and having a girl to balance it out would be wonderful."

"Hey!" Amy's brothers chorus, sounding scandalised, and she laughs. Her mother pats them indulgently on the head, then continues. "When you were born, we were a little disappointed that her prediction wasn't true, but not exactly surprised - I mean, we didn't even know how she came to the conclusion that I was going to have a girl, and her predictions were usually right but they weren't _always_ accurate. So your father just laughed it off, but it looks like my grandmother will be having the last laugh, and it looks like she  _does_ have a great-granddaughter after all."

Amy beams. She's read a lot of horror stories from the internet about parents who didn't take their kids' revelations well, and this turned out better than she could have expected. She's forced to repeat her lecture to seven restless boys - it takes three hours and a lot of snacks and yelling - but it's definitely worth it. 

She has a good childhood. Supportive family, a surprisingly understanding bevy of schools and classmates, and a grandfather who regales her with stories about his days in the police force. He shows off his badge and some newspaper clippings of raids and arrests he was involved in, taking down people intent on doing Brooklyn harm. She's fascinated. She wants to do the same. It becomes a dream. 

Her grandfather sits her on his knee and warns her that the force isn't all light and good. That there will be fellow cops there mocking her for things she cannot help being - Cuban, female, transgender. That she will face prejudice and bigotry and injustice. Evil does not only exist in the dark alleys and underground dens. It lurks everywhere. Only if she can deal with that can she join the force. 

She thinks she can deal with that. 

More than that, she thinks she can make the force a better place. She'll get that badge. She wants to purge the evil. Her name is Amy Santiago and she will go down fighting. 

 

 

So it starts with Holt and it ends with Charles, who was never exposed to the idea that you could be  _anything_ but cisgender and it takes the Gina Incident for him to realise that. After the initial shock of their drunken one-night-stand, Gina suggests the idea of a friends with benefits arrangement, and something inside him recoils - because maybe he likes and respects Gina, wouldn't mind pursuing  _something,_ but the idea of sex has always left a pretty bad taste in his mouth. 

He spends a lifetime chalking it down to his small stature, his undesirable figure, his lack of prowess. That explains the discomfort in his own body, right? That explains the fear and reluctance to go at it with anyone, right? And nobody's ever told him otherwise. Nobody's ever suggested anything different.

But Gina is not nobody. Gina stops before their second time together and stares him down with that penetrating look of hers. "Something is wrong if you don't want to get with this glorious specimen of a woman right now. Tell me what's wrong, chickadee."

And the thing is, he doesn't even  _know._ But Gina is Gina, and she manages to guess, and then she ropes Jake and Rosa and all of the rest in to help. Even Captain Holt calls Charles in to talk candidly, promises that the squad will be there for him because  _Nine-Nine!_ and this might take time to figure out, and it doesn't come easy, but nothing worth doing is ever easy. 

"Can't promise it's going to be  _okay,_ buddy," Jake says, and Rosa snorts. "Yeah, the world's  _still_ a crappy place to be." 

"But we have your back." Amy smiles at him, offering up a thick binder simply titled 'FOR ______'. "Because you haven't figured out if you want to change your name, right? So you can fill that in, in your own time."

He takes it, hugging it close, and smiles back at all of them. "I think _Charles_ is good." 

**Author's Note:**

> mega mega mega authorial disclaimer: i am cis. i could never ever claim to understand what it means to be transgender. i have done my absolute best to research well so this fic would be respectful but if i have misrepresented any aspect of being transgender please let me know in the comments! the point of this fic is to bring more diversity and representation into the b99 universe so i want to make sure i do it right. if you believe this fic is an act of overstepping, please let me know too! i will take it down asap. 
> 
> disclaimers: not sure if holt's dad has ever been named/mentioned on the show so i gave him a random name + terry's friends' names are based off characters in theatrical productions + can't remember if amy's brothers are all older than her but let's go with that + the ending is... kind of??? weird?? idk?? i didn't know how to end it but i hope you enjoyed it anyway!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [This Must Be How It Feels (To Have A Home)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765334) by [gee (falloutblink182)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutblink182/pseuds/gee)




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